The Words of Azaram
Written on the holy day of Qi’lop If I do not write what has happened, I fear the Empire will remember Korath’s last true son as a traitor. I am no traitor; I am no patriot. I am a War Priest of Kahless, his will given flesh. Seven years ago he came to me in a vision, while I died in the snows of Boreth, a man with no honor. I founded the Red Path in his name; for seven years my words have rung in the halls of the Empire, in the ears of those who feel the sickness at our heart – the sickness of blood lust, of rage, of wanton slaughter. But I did not truly know what it was to walk that path, not until today. Today, on the high holy day of Qi’lop, I lost my father, my house, and perhaps my empire – but for the first time, I know true honor. And it is glorious. In the capital city of Qo’noS, in the bad quarter, we built our temple to the Red Path; a beacon for every soldier asked to die, for every warrior ordered to slaughter. My brother Khaegor had encouraged me to host a tournament amongst those loyal to the Path , the victor to be inducted into our House; the fire of battle burns away imperfections, and no battle burns hotter than that of two Klingon hearts. In temples across the empire, followers of the Red Path committed themselves to combat – by Qi’lop, the field had been reduced to only two. The heavy favorite: a brute of a man known as Sindak, who had made a name for himself in several skirmishes along the border. But I was not prepared for his opponent – Tavana, daughter of Rajuk. If fire had form, it would be her; I felt the heat of her gaze from my dais. She moved with the grace of a grishnar cat, and I knew that one of these warriors would soon face the gates of Sto’Vo’Kor – for a moment, I envied the dead, for they would feast with Tavana for eternity. “Brothers, Sisters. Warriors… Klingons,” I bellowed. “When Kahless came to me, he showed me a vision of the old ways, bleeding at my feet. For too long our Empire has believed itself strong – but what strength is drawn from the slaughter of the weak? My father fought the Picard. Our Empire crushed the Dominion. But now… where is our glory? Cardassia is a corpse, gnawed on by dogs. The Romulans are gutted, dying in the dirt. The Ferengi, worms. The Vulcans, green blooded jaghpu. '' And the Federation… old grandmothers, clutching at their skirts. The greatest warrior of the age will strike only once in his life – and that strike will change the galaxy.” “These two have come before us, to prove their worth. You are both dead already, ''but one of you must wait for the glory of Sto’Vo’Kor. On this glorious day, one of you shall earn a glorious death. Qapla’!” And with that, the two joined in battle. Armed with a bat’leth, the hulking Sinak pressed his advantage, exchanging a flurry of blows with the lithe Tavana, armed with the much smaller but faster twin mek’leths. His attack was fierce and his blade lanced through her shoulder, pinning the woman to the ground. She did not hesitate however, using his own momentum against him, kicking her opponent backwards – the crowd roared with approval. Lurching to his feet, Sinak charged once again, a true son of the Red Path – he looked to me, as if perhaps Kahless would bless him- a fatal mistake. With his attention distracted, Tavana swept in… and slit the man’s throat. There wasn’t a spectator in that arena not on his feet – and I realized my mouth was dry. Cold, calculating, brutal and skilled, my hands practically shook – Tavana was truly a woman worthy of joining my House. When we finally spoke, she proved to be a woman of few words; as I have been said to be a man of too many, I found her well met. More telling perhaps, she kept the ceremonial mek’leths, still stained with Sindak’s blood. I received word from my brother to meet him at our estate – Khaegor may be many things, but he is still the head of my house, and when he speaks, I must listen. Tavana joined me – she seemed overwhelmed by my modest shuttle, a true child of the Ketha Lowlands. If she was impressed by the grounds of her new House, she hid it well – the estate of House Korath is one of the oldest on Qo’noS, an easy walk to the Great Hall, the heart of the Empire. When no one greeted us, I sensed trouble – my brother attacked from hiding. When we were boys, he would have had me mewling in the dirt within moments; I am no longer that boy. I drew blood, then summarily disarmed him: for too long I had let the hate of Khaegor’s pettiness grow in my chest - years of small minded abuse disguised as sibling rivalry - but his support of the Red Path over the last half decade had proven true, and I must admit – it felt good to have not just my brother’s blood, but his respect. Inside our home, we stood under the roof of our ancestors, and Khaegor welcomed Tavana into our house. We burned the braziers, chanted the words, and drank wine made from our mingled blood. The ceremony complete, Tavana, daughter of Rajuk became Tavana of House Korath, and my warrior’s heart was glad. The sweet taste of her blood wine would soon turn to ash in my mouth. My brother informed us that we had been invited to the Great Hall, to sit beside the Chancellor himself- I did not care for the man’s policies, but I greatly admired his skill in battle. It seems Chancellor Martok was interested in meeting me, the upstart priest of the Red Path. As he prepared to leave, my brother unveiled his masterstroke, what he had been secretly planning for years: tonight, as we sat in our place of honor, he would reveal that we would no longer be House Korath – we would be House Khaegor. “Explain yourself brother,” I demanded, “what glory have you won that eclipses that of our father?” “Our father was a failure and a fool, known only for his defeats”. “Our father was the greatest mind the Empire has ever known. He crafted a temporal field when cloaking technology was still young-” “He filled your hands with books,” said Khaegor, “and your head with lies. Father made you weak Azaram. But you have made yourself, and this House, strong. I am honored by you brother, and the Empire shall know it. Tonight, House Khaegor shall take its rightful place at the head of the Empire. I go to retrieve the Chancellor – meet us in the Great Hall, the feast of Qi’lop has already begun!” As he strode from the room, I was staggered. Tavana attempted to guide me, but she knew her place, and it was not between the heads of her house. I left for my chambers, and private meditation. Seeking guidance from Kahless, I hungered for a sign… all I was given was silence. But in that quiet, I realized the truth – a man’s honor is his alone, and if my brother would claim mine for his, he was not only dishonoring the memory of our father, but dishonoring the Red Path, and Kahless himself. As a true son of Kahless, I could not allow this to pass. Entering into the Great Hall, the feast was well underway. Old acquaintances – I would call none of them friends – attempted to engage me, but my burdens were too heavy for revelry. I saw our seats at the high table, but both my brother and the Chancellor were absent – there was still time. Tavana came to me with an ingenious plan, belying a social grace little found in our people – she would offer to escort the Chancellor to his seat, giving me time to intercept my brother. After all, even a man as withered as the Chancellor would seize an opportunity to be so close to her beauty. We put the plan into action. When my brother entered, he was not alone. The middle of a grand procession, he pushed a golden box on a hover sled, and was backed by a cloaked man – Tavana informed me that it wasn’t the Chancellor, though how she knew I could not say. I attempted to have private words with Khaegor, but there was something in his eyes, a spark fanned into inferno. Our words soon cut through the crowd, and the most powerful Klingons in the Empire fell silent to hear our dispute: not the bickering of brothers, but a clash between the War Priest of the Red Path and the head of the newly titled House Khaegor. House Khaegor, that had been building Birds of Prey nonstop, using my name to recruit impressionable youth into service. House Khaegor, that has positioned its fleets on every border. House Khaegor, that stands ready to lead the Klingon Empire in a new age of war, gutting the weakened galaxy. Before my eyes, the brother I knew died, to be replaced with an apparition; a monster who would plunge our people into thoughtless war – a beast with no honor. Tavana could see in my eyes that bloodshed was inevitable; I could see that my brother had removed all followers of the Red Path from the room. A glorious death in honor of Kahless was all I have ever asked for – but today was not to be that day. From the golden box, my brother drew a weapon out of legend, which rendered the room silent: the sword of Kahless, lost years ago into the Gamma quadrant, the holy blade from which all bat’leths take their name. Even I was stunned by its brutal beauty. From the shadows, a prisoner was presented, Khaegor claiming that the spilled blood would begin the new age. The ragged man who was brought to his knees had clearly been mistreated, but his single eye was still bright with fury – it was Chancellor Martok himself. “This man,” shouted my brother, “is a traitor to the Empire. He would sell us to the Romulans, his own people… and the proof stands before you.” His gesture seemed to be towards Tavana, but the man was clearly mad – I could not let him continue. “Will you kill this man yourself…” I accused him, praying that he still possessed a shred of honor, “…an old, unarmed man, and you with an unbeatable sword?” “I am but the sword bearer. This blade can only be truly wielded by one man…” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He handed the sword to the figure in the robe, who finally revealed himself… Emperor Kahless himself. Not the true legend, but the unageing clone of Kahless that had ruled the Empire as a living god for almost a century. Under the rule of this scientific abomination, the Empire had become bloated with blood, fat on combat, calling murder glory and finding praise in cowardice. The false man took the true blade… but my brother was not done with me yet. “Bring the second prisoner”. The second prisoner. If Qi’lop had ended with Martok’s blood on the stone, and my spirit in the halls of Sto’vo’Kor, I would have been happy; but the revelation of the second prisoner stole that joy from me. Korath, of House Korath. My father, thought long dead. My father, the only being to ever show a weak boy kindness – the only man until Kahless himself to inspire me to be more then I was. My father… on his knees before the False Kahless. And I knew then the true meaning of my vision, seven years ago: ''Inside the monastery, my brother monks were dead – no glorious death for them, but a butchering, and my hands were red. The floor, the walls, the ceilings all dripped with blood. In our central hall, Kahless stood before me, his eye’s accusing – in that moment, I knew he was not proud of the man I was, but that he could learn to respect the man I may become. At his feet, a body, skewered by the legendary sword … the false emperor, the clone, dead at my feet. My feet that, in that moment, began walking the Red Path. '' I had had seven years, seven years of Kahless’ vision in my mind, and the False Kahless still lived. Without hesitation, I threw my dak’tagh at the pretender’s heart – but the Emperor, though a clone, had all the skill of the original, and my blade was deflected. If only I had heeded Kahless’ vision… the last thing my father saw wasn’t my face, but the Sword of Kahless cleaving his head from his neck. The next moments are a blur of violence. Tavana moved faster than any I had ever seen, practically able to sever Khaegor’s throat before he had begun to move– if only she had, the galaxy would have thanked her. The Emperor, though a blight on our race, could still fight like a cornered targ, and I found myself bleeding from a massive wound I did not recall receiving. Seeing no allies in a room of cowards, I contemplated death; my father dead, my house dishonored, it seemed there was nothing left. But Tavana still fought. As long as the Klingon heart beats, there can be victory. Seizing the Chancellor from his place on the floor, Tavana and I raced for a waiting shuttle craft. While my brother’s men fired upon our ship, we began our ascent into space. The planetary defenses opened fire on our pathetic craft, but we were able to reach the shipyards ahead of any warning. Using the threat of Martok and brother’s name – for the last time, by my life, by my blade and by my honor – I secured us docking at the shipyards. Soon, a klaxon sounded – the word of Khaegor traveled quickly. Martok lead us to two different ships, both loyal to him: Tavana proved shockingly adept at breaking the secure airlock’s encryption, and while Martok and I engaged two young warriors, she won us access to the Pa’Qul –a Hegh’ta class Bird of Prey - with enough time left to fell one of the boys herself. They fought bravely, but needlessly, and their deaths are two more on my brother’s hands. Aboard the Pa’Qul, we were faced with a more pressing concern: the ship was empty. I opened a channel to every nearby command: Kahless needs all true followers of the Red Path on board the Pa’Qul, immediately… the future of the Empire depends on it. Within moments, we found ourselves with a full complement of 97 crewman, all true hearted followers of Kahless’ vision. We undocked from the ship yards. A single craft stood in our way; a ship loyal to my brother. A ship filled with good men, not knowing any better than to follow their orders; a ship of Klingon warriors, and thus one of the most deadly crafts in the galaxy. I ordered the attack, a full spread of torpedoes, our axillary power diverted to engines. As we came down on them, our torpedoes ignited their warp core before they could return fire, ripping the ship to shreds – we sailed through their plasma field, and into the black. If only the day had stopped then. If only, if only. My entire life, I had dreamed of battle; no one ever told me that regret and victory are two sides of the same mek’leth, and they both can cut. While Martok encouraged us to seek asylum and aide from the Federation base K-7, we received a Romulan hail. For Tavana. Beautiful Tavana. Deadly Tavana. Tavana, the Romulan spy, agent of the Tal Shiar, ordered back to the Romulan base on Nequencia to report on penalty of death. For ten years, she lived as one of us; for ten years, she secretly dealt with my brother, negotiating a new home world for her crippled people. Tavana, who would have seen the Chancellor and myself dead, but for my brother’s betrayal of her in the Great Hall. Tavana, called Ariennye t'Galathon, the woman whose blood I drank, who I accepted into my house. Tavana, who claims to still have a Klingon Heart. Kahless help me, I believe her. When the enemy is your own people, their enemies become your friends. We make for Nequencia… and the Romulan Empire. Qapla’.